Rise of the Mary Sues - Hobbit Edition
by Wingthing
Summary: Four Mary Sues. Four stories. Four outcomes. Watch out Thorin and Kili! (Parody)


**Author's Note: Rise of the Mary Sue's Revised - all reviews/criticism/flames welcome :)**

 **Please note, this has purely been written in jest and to satiate my own weird, sense of humour. In truth, there are a LOT of Mary Sue's in the Hobbit fandom and I have nothing short of admiration for those authors who strive to improve their writing! I've written for years and yes, I have written several Mary Sue's in the long, distant gloomy past.**

 **Feel free to leave your opinions!**

It was an exceptionally dark and dramatic evening in Bree. The rain lashed down with the fervour of an angry dragon upon the cloaked figure walking towards the Prancing Pony. Mud-slicked leather boots walked smartly across the wooden straits of the doorway. A few punters cast the stranger wary looks, before returning to their ale and drunken camaraderie.

"Can I help you .. sir .. miss?" the barman said.

A pair of emerald green eyes blazed beneath the brim of a hood as a leather-gloved hand pulled back the cloak, allowing a mass of silken black hair to fall down the stranger's back. A quiver of bows was strapped to her back, along with a utility belt buckled with daggers and a hunting knife. She wore a black corset, leather pants and a long dark coat. Her name was Ariana, and she had travelled a great distance to meet up with a certain Wizard this night. The old man had been vague in the details of their meeting, except he required someone with her set of skills; tracking and use of a sword/bow/daggers/knife.

Ariana was no stranger to fighting. She was in fact a mercenary Elf with a dark past, outlawed from the Halls of Tharanduil. It was said the woodland King had found her in the woods as a baby, crying for her life, but he had soon discovered a terrible secret about her heritage and after three-hundred years, declared her banished from his kingdom. Ariana, had since vowed to seek revenge against Tharanduil, demanding to know the reason why she was cast aside like a piece of meat. However, getting close to the King had so far proven difficult.

"One pint of ale," she said shortly, dipping her head and ignoring the stares of a group of men.

"There's a few girls in here tonight," the barman enquired whilst pouring the drink. "More than usual, mind."

"I am not a whore," Ariana said delicately.

The barman blushed. "No, I meant to say … a few of your _type_ … warrior and all … they're sat over there."

He pointed a finger at a table where a band of three women sat, each nursing pints of ale and gazing anxiously at the door as if waiting for someone. The shorter woman was wearing a set of crude armor, which failed to hide her ample bosoms. She was all curves and soft flesh, with full lips and a crown of curly, yellow hair.

Her companion was slightly bigger, but only just. She had a mass of brown hair heavily braided which refused to be tamed. Like Ariana, she wore a leather corset yet instead of a bow, a large axe was strapped to her hip.

The woman sat opposite them was the most intriguing of all; she was tall and slim, with a sea of silvery hair running down her back to the floor. Her skin was tanned and she wore an elaborate Elvish gown. A long-sword was belted to her waist. Her eyes were a curious blend of fiery yellow and red. Instead of drinking ale, she was supping on a strange red substance in a glass.

Bewildered, Ariana approached them. They each raised their head at her presence.

"Who are you?" the brown haired woman said, frowning slightly.

"I do not give my name to strangers," Ariana replied curtly.

"Well, that's nice," the short, blonde woman said genially, taking a long sip of ale. "I'm Poppy Woodworm." She extended a hand and Ariana reluctantly shook it. "Everywhere else is full in here, you can sit with us if you like!""

Ariana swept a careful eye around the Tavern. Admitting defeat, she sat down beside the white-haired woman who stared at her unblinkingly.

"I've not seen the likes of you before," Poppy continued in her hearty manner. "This is the first - "

"Are you waiting for someone?" Ariana interrupted.

The trio swapped looks.

"What makes you say that?" The axe-wielding woman asked her sharply.

Ariana narrowed her eyes.

"This is too much of a coincidence. You are all obviously skilled in battle," she looked at the white-haired woman who was still gazing at her with her fiery eyes. "Some of you, anyway."

"Go figure," the axe-woman snorted.

"Are you waiting for Gandalf the Grey?"

The smile vanished from Poppy's face. "How do you know of Gandalf?"

"He is my oldest, dearest friend," Ariana shot back. "I have known him for many years."

"Impossible," Poppy snapped. "I have lived in the Shire my entire life with Bilbo Baggins – I'm half-Elf you see – Gandalf found me abandoned on a roadside and to keep me safe he hid me in the Shire! I've known him since I was a child!"

The brown-haired woman unleashed her axe and began twisting it impatiently in her meaty hands. "You cannot _all_ claim to know Gandalf," she hissed in her low voice. "My name is Thora and Gandalf approached _me_ to join a quest because my skills in battle are legend and I am familiar with these lands. He trusts nobody else but me to protect the line of Durin!"

"I highly doubt it," Ariana retorted, her fingers stroking her utility belt of daggers. "I have travelled far and wide, escaped masses of orcs across the plains and their Wargs. Are you sure Gandalf has not mistaken you for a rather bosom dwarf?"

"How dare you!" Thora bellowed, raising her axe menacingly. "I have had to deal with prejudice like yours my whole life and I do not need to hear it from some … some …. what exactly are you?"

"I'm an Elf," Ariana replied aggressively, unsheathing a dagger and pointing it between Thora's eyes.

"An Elf," Thora hissed menacingly, her face reddening with suppressed rage. "I despise Elves."

"And I eat dwarves for breakfast! Especially the fat ones!"

Thora made a noise of outrage and she rose to her feet, axe raised.

Poppy promptly dived out the way, reluctantly reaching for her own short-sword tied to her waist. Ariana was about to notch an arrow into her bow, when the silver-haired woman stood to her feet.

A pearlescent glow began to shine around her and she levitated between Thora and Ariana, her eyes glowing like amber coals.

"You shall not fight," she whispered in a deep, dangerous voice like a sleeping monster.

Ariana, Poppy and Thora swapped looks of confusion, and for a moment, Ariana forgot her anger.

"The hell is going on? What the hell _are_ you?"

"My name is Laureial. I am a Dragon-tamer/rider. My people have been lost in legend for thousands of years. We were once a great people, but the world began to fear we were becoming too powerful – alas we were wiped out. I am the last Dragon-tamer/rider. We have ridden dragons. We speak to them and Gandalf has asked me to protect his company and the fabled line of Durin!1."

A ringing silence followed her words, and Ariana's eyebrow was dangerously close to disappearing into her hairline. "Dragon tamers?"

"Yes. I am that."

"Never heard of you."

"We despise you Elves," Laureial hurled at Ariana as if her words would do unworldly damage. "You are the reason my people are so few!"

"Well that ain't my problem," Ariana replied, rolling her eyes.

"Your kind will pay for what you did to me! I will not have an Elf protect the line of Durin!"

"Ah! There you all are, my dears!"

The four girls' heads swivelled in the direction of the door; Gandalf the Grey entered the tavern, his robes billowing behind him. "If you would follow me."

There was an almighty race to exit of the Prancing Pony and reach Gandalf's side. As soon as they piled onto the street, there was an almighty shout.

"On your marks, three … two … one … fire!"

A storm of fiery arrows flew through the air, hitting their targets squarely in the chest. Poppy, Thora, Laureial and Ariana sank to their knees, flaming arrowheads protruding from their bodies.

"Good job," Gandalf praised a dark-haired Dwarf standing the far side of the street. He cast Gandalf a surly look and nudged one of the Sue's with his boot.

"Getting them to meet in the Prancing Pony was a good idea, Gandalf," he murmured. "But more will come."

"Aye," Gandalf muttered, dragging a distracted hand through the tangles of his greying hair. "Bilbo's patience is wearing thin with his latest 'guest'. Some Elvish Skinchanger called Farryn. I don't know what we're going to do!"

"I suggest we kill them quickly ..." Thorin growled. "I do have a kingdom to reclaim and a dragon to slay."

"Would the Dragon Tamer not have come in handy?" Gandalf reasoned half-heartedly, peering down at her lifeless body.

Thorin flashed Gandalf a mutinous look. "I guess not."

"Fili, Kili come here!" Thorin bellowed, waving his arm. "Pile these bodies on with the rest and prepare to burn them."


End file.
